


Tis A Pity She's A --

by orphan_account



Series: yoi filth [7]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Regency, Clothing Porn, Filthy, Floor Sex, I'm Going to Hell, M/M, Sexual Roleplay, Wall Sex, intersex omega
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-02 21:47:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11518152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Yuuri has devised an entertaining diversion for himself and his lord husband.(There's a beautiful kimono, sexy storytelling, fucking against various surfaces, and some pussy-slapping.)





	Tis A Pity She's A --

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in alykapedia's [regency ABO verse](https://archiveofourown.org/series/756720) and at one point references her NSFW week entry [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11487138). It isn't necessary reading but like ... you should read it anyway. I have never been gladder than for the day I said to her "how do you feel about hermaphrodite physiology in omegas". More on developmental physiology in this verse [here](https://archiveofourown.org/comments/116351964). 
> 
> Thanks to [flammablehat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flammablehat/pseuds/flammablehat) for asking all the important questions, like "does yuuri have a g-spot" and "is viktor a magic master of squirting?"
> 
> To find out the answers to these questions, read on!

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


He would never, before, have thought of doing something like this. Before Viktor, many things seemed impossible; not because of any worldly constraint, no, but the girdle of Yuuri's own mind.

Glancing blushingly at the looking-glass in his dressing room, Yuuri will admit, however, that what he has in mind to do is a little beyond the pale. But he burns at the thought, which stole into his mind over a solitary breakfast, his lord husband gone early to the docks to look over long awaited wares. Society does not look well upon Viktor's habit of turning his hand to trade; even less well does it look upon his penchant for literally turning his hand to his trade. Yet Yuuri has found that in the beautiful and wealthy, these social faux pas are transmuted, like chaff into gold, and deemed mere eccentricities. 

Being married to Yuuri does not seem to have dampened the ton's panting admiration of his husband; it maddens and pleases Yuuri in equal turns. 

And so it was during breakfast in the Lilac Room, alone but for his thoughts and Altin's silent, sardonic presence, that Yuuri devised an entertaining diversion for himself and Viktor; and he has carried it around like a hot, heavy weight in the pit of his navel whilst going about his daily business. 

Ever since the incident of the long, horrible winter, Viktor has taken to sending ahead before coming home.

This has, amongst other uses, allowed Yuuri the luxury of time to prepare himself -- to set out the autumn-coloured robes of burnished bronze and gold and brilliant orange, unwrap the delicately light obi with patterns picked out in red and gold leaf from its bindings, arrange the cool, silk cloth on himself and tie the obi just so. It is provocative, unseemly, and would bring utter shame to his family, if Yuuri were to be seen in public like this: the brocaded seams of his kimono slipping almost off his shoulders, his clavicles and the milky skin of his sternum bared for all to see.

But none shall; only Viktor, and Yuuri does not intend that the kimono stay merely _slipping_ for very much longer. 

He has dispensed with drawers; they would ruin the lay of his kimono and quite spoil the tantalising flash of leg that shows as Yuuri walks, hips swinging, past the looking-glass. The mincing little steps that the kimono forces upon Yuuri make the middling walk from their rooms to Viktor's private study even longer; the risk of exposure, of a servant or -- heaven forbid, their ward Yuri -- chancing upon Yuuri in this state of dress quickens his breath if not his feet, warms the blood in his cheeks. 

The glow of the setting sun barely pierces the low mists that have rolled up the Thames and settled, cat-like, curling through the streets. Only the yellow glow of the streetlamps light the corridor; the lamps in their brackets upon the walls are as yet unlit, and will only be when true dark has fallen. 

"Darling, why are you -- " Belatedly, Yuuri notices the thumping of Viktor's boots against the wooden floor, and how they have come to a sudden stop. "Oh, _darling_." 

Out of the gloom, Viktor emerges with candle in hand, his pale hair tousled, cravat and waistcoat already dispensed of, and midway through unbuttoning his shirt with a single hand. His beauty pierces Yuuri to the quick, dishevelled so. 

Viktor has paused at the head of the stairs, staring at Yuuri, his eyes glinting pale in the dark. 

"I thought I might give you a surprise," Yuuri says, stepping a little closer, looking coyly up through his eyelashes, "and thought to meet you ... hither." He reaches out to push the study door open, even as every bone in his body is drawn towards Viktor, and the place where his thighs rub together is becoming slippery-wet. 

As the sea is drawn to the moon, Viktor follows Yuuri into the study, where a servant has already lit a fire in the grate. Its steady crackling and their breaths are the only sound in the room. Beyond the low throw of flickering light from the fire, the outer limits of which are neatly drawn by the boundary at which the Persian carpet meets polished floorboard, the room is gloomy. 

"You look magnificent," Viktor breathes, after lighting a cluster of candles -- enough to to illuminate Yuuri and his seduction. "Oh, but." His eyebrows furrow and he tugs lightly at the obi, tied over Yuuri's belly. "Did you not say ..." his voice dies as understanding washes over his face, lust chewing quickly at its heels. The blue of his eyes is rapidly swallowed by his pupils. 

Yuuri smiles up at him, sweet and promising, before rising onto his toes, resting his fingertips against Viktor’s chest for balance. Viktor’s skin is hot through smooth muslin and his heart thudding forcefully in his chest. As natural as breath, Viktor catches him about the waist, and Yuuri slides his hands up to wrap his arms around Viktor's neck, the wide sleeves of his kimono slipping down to his elbows so that the bare skin of his forearm is scratched delightfully by the scruff on Viktor's cheek. Already, Viktor's breath is coming faster, his scent thickening and whispering up Yuuri's legs to the wetness on his thighs, clinging and crawling against Yuuri's bared arms, dizzyingly thick in his nose. 

“How very vexing” -- Viktor’s voice has gone low and hoarse -- “that I cannot spend all day abed with you, my love.” 

Excitement and desire buzz low in Yuuri's belly, make the folds between his legs feel fat and heavy, make his little cock twitch under the light restraint of the kimono. Mouthing at the musky skin behind Viktor's ear, where his scent is strong, Yuuri murmurs, "Shall I be your whore, my lord?"

The deep, guttural moan and the flexing of Viktor’s strong fingers on his waist, bruising even through the padding of the obi, has Yuuri’s eyes fluttering shut, satisfaction pouring through him like honey. It isn't good, he knows, to be proud, but he would defy any of the simpering mamas or silly debutantes of the ton not to gloat over being the one to bring Viktor Nikiforov to his knees. 

Metaphorically, of course.

"Gladly," Yuuri says while stretching a leg up to wrap around Viktor’s waist, setting his robe askew as he rubs up against the hardness under the flap of Viktor’s trousers, "would I do so."

Viktor breaks, as Yuuri hoped he would; he bears Yuuri back against the nearest wall and dips low to kiss him, tasting faintly of oranges and cured meat. None of the tobacco that Yuuri hates, and so Yuuri kisses him back, pushing his tongue along the seam of Viktor's mouth, drawing Viktor's tongue into his own mouth to suckle upon. Viktor has a large, warm hand in his hair, tenderly holding Yuuri's head just so. Yuuri gives, leans back into the wall for Viktor to crowd impossibly closer. 

"I have heard," Yuuri gasps as Viktor does something wondrous with his other hand, slipped cleverly under the fold of his kimono, "of the pleasures of being taken against the wall."

“Is -- is that so?” Viktor stumbles, even as his hand does not; Yuuri turns his face to nuzzle into Viktor’s palm, bite at the meat of it when Viktor tucks two fingers into his wet cunt, already dripping with need.

He rides out the first, squirming wave of pleasure with his teeth set into Viktor’s hand, eyes shut firmly against it. 

When Yuuri gathers enough of himself together again, his voice has husked low as well; in tones dark and throaty, he tells Viktor of his youthful escapades with Phichit in the den of iniquity that is Soho, breath hitching over his words as Viktor’s fingers press and caress and stroke. 

“And what of the pleasures of the wall, darling?” Viktor drags his fingers out and up along Yuuri’s cunt slickly towards Yuuri’s aching cock. “You have not come to the point quite yet.” 

His eyes are almost all black, the blue of them a glacial ring around the swallowing dark desire, when Yuuri meets them. Their gaze catches, holds fast, and Yuuri half-drowns in them; the hand previously cradling his head has slipped down to his neck, and Viktor is massaging at the bonding mark bruised over Yuuri’s pulse point. With trembling, desperate fingers, Yuuri fumbles at the blasted buttons holding the fall of Viktor’s breeches fast.

“ _Ah_ ,” Yuuri gasps, pleasure warming him all the way through, his neck hardly sturdy enough under Viktor’s ministrations to support his spinning head, his fingers faltering. “Ah, Vitya, I --”

Viktor stops -- he stops all movement, and that is _worse_ by far. “Yes, whore?” 

It is the nonchalance with which his husband says the word, the unprepossessing delivery that dispossesses Yuuri of -- of any semblance of control; he falls immediately to moaning, melts so that his weight is entirely settled on Viktor’s shoulders and the hand Viktor has pressed tantalisingly against him. On Viktor’s hips, which Viktor has urged his thighs back onto.

“We, _oh_ , we were in a-a public house, Phichit and I,” Yuuri confesses, riding the hard bulge straining the fall of Viktor’s half-unfastened breeches, rolling his cock into the light, teasing touch of Viktor’s slick hand. “ _Ah_ — _nnnnn_.” He gasps in a shallow breath. “And, we hid in a c-corner, near some s-stai- _ah_ -airs.”

Viktor hums encouragingly, nosing against the bonding mark, scenting Yuuri. His hands part from Yuuri’s skin briefly, to complete the work that Yuuri started; they quickly return to bear Yuuri up. 

"I-in a corner, on th-the stairs, I saw, _oh, god_ , a sailor. P-pressing a wh-whore into a wa-a-” Yuuri wails when Viktor sets his teeth lightly against his neck, and he feels Viktor’s cock press into him, stretch open the sensitive, soft, _clutching_ walls of his cunt to settle up against his sweet spot. Losing the thread of his story, Yuuri squeezes his thighs tighter round Viktor, drops his weight heavier onto him, luxuriates in the rough moan exhaled against his neck. 

“It was rough," Yuuri moans as Viktor slips a hand between them, grips his cock tight and rubs tight circles into the head. "I -- _oh!_ \-- c-could tell, though, _haaaa_ , it was dim and my ey-eyes poor, _oh god, oh -- god_ ,” he breaks off, shuddering hard as his bones themselves melt under Viktor’s onslaught.

Viktor stops, again. “Yes,” he husks out. “And?” His hips are still, his thumb unmoving on Yuuri’s cockhead. 

Crying out in frustration, Yuuri pushes the words quickly, slurs them. “Because the whore made such noises that they echoed down the stairs, my lord -- _hnnnn_ ,” his throat closes up when Viktor thrusts into him in reward. “I -- _oh_ , shall I make them for you? "

Oh, how Yuuri wants to -- to scream and moan and keen as that whore of years past had. To perform as she had, only he is sure that making such noise will draw him closer to that perfect state of abandonment. 

Under his heavy-lidded gaze, Viktor breathes deeply of the air, now saturated with the musky smell of sex and their aroused scents, entwined. He blinks, slowly, and the searing look in them when his lids rise again makes something deep in Yuuri shudder in recognition. 

“I shall endeavour, _ah_.” Viktor pauses when Yuuri involuntarily squeezes tight around his cock. “To give you reason to." 

And then he pulls out, much to Yuuri's distress, and even more outrageously sets Yuuri's feet firmly on the floor.

The protest is barely formed on Yuuri’s lips when Viktor sinks to his knees and looking up at Yuuri from ‘neath his thick, silver lashes, purrs: "Good whores deserve this, I think. I trust with experience such as yours, you shall guide me well." 

“Oh!” Yuuri gasps out, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth as he watches Viktor lean in between Yuuri’s parted thighs, pushing the loosened kimono out of the way -- it has been disarrayed so that the top has completely fallen off Yuuri’s shoulders, pooling at his elbows -- and angles in and up to mouth at the hot, throbbing heat there.

He holds Yuuri open with his long, calloused fingers, cheek scratching against Yuuri’s cock, and buries his face against Yuuri, fucking into where Yuuri’s desperate for something to clench around; the hot pressure of his tongue inside Yuuri, curling and flexing, then fluttering makes Yuuri curl over him, back bowing as he is overwhelmed, incoherent cries tearing their way out of his chest. Viktor draws back just as Yuuri’s pleasure is about to crest, and Yuuri chokes out a protest that melts into a deep moan, when Viktor starts lapping at Yuuri, maddeningly slow then rapid by turns, fingertips stroking idle patterns through the slick coating the sensitive folds of his cunt, the tender skin of his cock. 

The tight, hot, heavy feeling in Yuuri’s core grows and grows, Viktor stoking the fire higher, higher, higher as he kisses Yuuri’s cunt like a mouth, pulls away with a filthy _pap_ ; his upturned face glistens with Yuuri’s slick and his own saliva, lit in the ambient light of the study, and he smiles a small, secret smile. 

“My lovely whore,” Viktor says in the same satisfied way he talks about an investment yielding true; only hoarseness of his voice and the naked want in his scent betray him. “How do I fare?” 

“T-too well, my —” Yuuri’s words dissolves into a scream; Viktor has swallowed Yuuri down, the searing heat of his mouth engulfing Yuuri’s cock wholly whilst his fingers have returned to playing with his folds, those of one hand sliding into his dripping slit and hooking to pet relentlessly over his sweet spot. Only the manner in which Yuuri has been pinned, panting and legs spread wide, tailbone digging into the wall, is keeping him from sliding all the way down; that and Viktor’s hands on him and in him, winding the spool of Yuuri’s pleasure ever higher, ever tighter. Yuuri is wet, wet, wet; he moans brokenly through a series of cascading climaxes into Viktor’s mouth and over his fingers, soaking his hand, dripping down his bare forearm. 

All is a white rush of noise in his ears, his eyes squeezed shut against the unending intensity.

The fire from his core sweeps out, courses immolating through his body in waves over and over, until it finally retreats, crawling, leaving ghost impressions of shuddery pleasure in its wake. He opens his eyes and is surprised to still be upright.

Desire pangs deep in him when he looks down and sees Viktor watching him, mouth slightly parted and tongue absently licking the taste of Yuuri from his lips. 

“Well?” asks Viktor, a fine eyebrow raised. There is a streak of Yuuri’s slick smeared next to it.

Yuuri drops his head back against the wall with a whine. “I --”

“I want to lick every drop from you,” Viktor growls unexpectedly, kissing the words into where Yuuri’s sopping and still needy for it; Yuuri whines and trembles anew, inside and out, feeling more wet sliding out of him, trickle out of his cock. 

Viktor chuckles darkly, then starts to stand.

His knees buckle, and Yuuri follows him laughingly down.

“Ah,” Viktor smiles ruefully. “You have overcome me, sweetheart.” 

The charade is over, it would seem -- but not, Yuuri hopes, the evening.

From his place atop Viktor, Yuuri reaches down for Viktor’s neglected cock, curving hot and heavy in his hand. Viktor gasps; his hips buck up.

“Have me here,” Yuuri demands, looking at the perfect, warmed, carpeted spot in front of the fire mere feet away. “Is that not what a whore would do?” 

“I would lay you out on a bed even if you were a whore,” Viktor tells him, sitting up to skim his palms over Yuuri’s bare shoulders, so that Yuuri shivers. “And marry you again.”

Yuuri topples him over, rolls them onto the carpet, and leaning to rest his forearms on Viktor’s chest, sinks down onto Viktor with a sigh. 

He has been thoroughly wrung out, but _this_ : the feeling of Viktor hard as a rock within him, of being filled, of Viktor pressing against his insides -- it sates the craving that has been simmering subcutaneously for what seems forever. And then there are the moans and half-formed words that he pulls from Viktor’s lips, with every roll of Yuuri’s hips, every time he sheaths Viktor in him.

Lost in the sensations of: fucking himself on Viktor; the grain of Viktor’s buckskin breeches smooth against the sensitive skin of his inner thighs; the silky softness of Viktor’s shirt underneath his arms, Yuuri rides Viktor in a syrupy, dreamy daze. He startles when Viktor stills him, hands firm on his hips, and tips them back over so that Yuuri is on his back now, eyes wide and cunt still pulsing around Viktor’s cock. 

Viktor’s shirt gapes open over his chest as he leans over Yuuri to undo his obi, spread the wide band out on the floor together with the rich silk of the kimono. 

“Vitya?” Yuuri asks, uncertain, and then, peeved, “ _Vitya!_ ”, when Viktor pulls out. 

"Please, darling," requests Viktor, petting soothingly at his winking, spasming hole; Yuuri is so desperately, shamefully open. "Be so kind as to spread your legs for me.” Confused, Yuuri lets his thighs fall open farther. “Yes, a little more, that's it, you're lovely."

And then he brings the open face of his palm down on the sensitive, sodden mess of Yuuri's cunt. 

The raw impact of it shocks a choked scream out of Yuuri, and then the sting of it like a thousand pinpricks all over melds into hot pleasure, makes him clench, jerk his hips up towards Viktor.

"Oh yes," Viktor purrs, his eyes pleased and dark, the smirk curling about his mouth making Yuuri throb deep inside; a begging whimper leaves his lips. "Oh yes, a very good whore for me indeed, my love." 

He deals Yuuri three more in quick succession; overwhelmed and back arching clear off the floor, Yuuri can but lie there and moan brokenly, mouth hanging open. The slaps jolt up his cunt and right through his body, go to his head with the way it echoes the wet smack of their bodies when they join together. The jolts tremble through him, strike to Yuuri's molten core, and he shakes his way through another high, slickly riding the possessive curl of Viktor's fingers, the base of his cock rubbing against the tense meat of Viktor's palm, the tip of it leaving wet streaks anew on Viktor’s forearm. 

In the tense pause after, Yuuri pants for breath, sweat coating him and soaking his kimono. It's not the only thing soaking his kimono. The silk sticks to his skin as Viktor presses his thighs down with both hands now, just looking. Always looking, his eyes ravenous. Yuuri loves it; it sets his nerves ablaze, makes the dark heat between his legs go heavy and swollen whenever he catches Viktor's eyes hungry on him, even across a crowded ballroom. Wet and ready for the irreplaceably thick curve of Viktor's cock easing him open and filling him in equal measure. God, Yuuri wants it again, with every breath he sucks in and every aftershock still moving through him.

"Have me," Yuuri coaxes. "Vitya, I want you, please. _Please_."

"Your mouth, kotyenok," Viktor groans, as he sits back onto his haunches and tugs at Yuuri so that he slides half into Viktor's lap, kimono bunching against Viktor's knees. "It will be the death of me one day."

And when Yuuri has managed it, Viktor's voice goes rough and burred, whiskey-dark and his thickening accent like a caress. His scent is almost an animal thing, sliding up over Yuuri's skin and into his veins as he breathes it in. Together with the rumbling bass in his voice, it makes Yuuri felt like he's being held down all over, makes Yuuri tilt his head back to bare his throat and beg, "Come back, Vitya, come back into me." 

"Blyad." It's almost a fervent prayer, even though Yuuri has now learnt what it means, and he agrees as Viktor grips him by the hip and the side of his ribs, pushing back into Yuuri's welcoming grasp. 

"I can see, darling, god, you're so good," Viktor pants as he immediately sets up a punishing pace. "I wish, ah, I could show, oh, you, the way my cock looks fffucking into your cunt, so red. _God_ , Yuuri," he swears, when Yuuri involuntarily seizes up around him at his words and arches clear off the floor at the feeling of Viktor so hot and hard in him, pressing into and against him. 

This mass of sensation drags Yuuri under: Viktor churning him, Viktor's rough breaths, the friction and the glide and the stretch, the drunken feeling of exposure under the weight of Viktor's eyes. The sleeves of his kimono are like a restraint against his arms as he stretches them overhead, but there is no purchase to be found against the waxed floor as he tosses his head against it, moaning in between gasping breaths.

Viktor slows inexplicably, but before Yuuri can protest he says in reverent tones, "You're soaking, darling, I can't --" and then he reaches down and trails his fingers along the sopping, red mess that is Yuuri's cockhead. Yuuri sobs, the nerves there sparking; he clamps down again, and the join of their bodies is abruptly slicker, the trailing of more come down the shaft of Yuuri’s cock to ease the already smooth glide of Viktor into him. 

He truly loses track, after that, loses himself in the thick, shallow push of Viktor into him, the fat blunt head with its constant press into the spot that has Yuuri falling endlessly, weightlessly through delirium; his nipples ache for touch; his vestigial breasts feel swollen; his thighs are trembling and slick; even the slide of his come down the backs of them and the curve of his ass is stimulation. 

Yuuri barely notices Viktor coming, but for the cessation of movement and the beloved pressure, and the way he's now suddenly being cradled upright in Viktor's lap, Viktor's hair darkened to pewter with sweat and Viktor's mouth moving over his chest.

"Oh!" Yuuri hears himself gasp, feels tingling warmth spread out like ripples from his nipple. His sticky, wet nipple. " _Ohhhhhhhhhh_ ," he sighs, as Viktor laps at the creamy gold that's seeped from them. No wonder his breasts had felt heavy. Their scents are so deeply overlain with each other now it smells like they've bred; Yuuri's insides give a throb, his cock pulses more clear fluid, and Viktor groans. 

"Another, darling?" he asks. "I may need a while yet." 

"Whenever you want," Yuuri says dreamily, as Viktor sets to his other nipple, having cleaned up the first thoroughly, and then some. "I am entirely at your disposal." 

Viktor squeezes him round the middle, rolls the nub of his nipple cruelly with his tongue. Yuuri -- there is no other word for it: he mewls and feels his insides spasm. Viktor's quiescent in him, but even then he's still formidable. Enough to squeeze around, enough for Yuuri to, if he were wont to, rub another out from the inside as Viktor’s come drools out of him. As it is, he is content to sit here, joined like this in the midst of all their debauchery, held like the most precious of things.

  
  
  


***

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> OK, so at some point when I was showing this to alykapedia she said SCRUFFY VIKTOR!!! and then we got a little sidetracked so **HERE IS AN OMAKE CHAT!FIC STYLE** :
> 
>  **Me** : scruffy just back from being a hands-on-boss at the docks!viktor  
> they totally have another roleplay session  
> where they pretend viktor is like  
> yuuri's bit of rough  
> and viktor bends yuuri over and takes him from the back in, like, the carriage house or something  
> because it's a Furtive Affair  
> and viktor says things like "can he do you like me, lovely?"  
> just works yuuri over roughly until yuuri's skirting that edge of pleasure and pain and crying into the rough-hewn stone walls  
> and this is after they discover how much yuuri likes pussy slapping  
> so after viktor's ploughed his way to messy, messy orgasm  
> he pulls out and starts in on yuuri  
> who's just struggling to hold in his screams  
> and viktor's like "don't hold it in, lovely, don't you want your lord husband to see you like this? walk in and see how well you scream for me?"  
> "your cunt dripping with my come, looking like ten men have used you."  
> and yuuri just kind of seizes up and comes, sobbing, clinging to the arm viktor's using to hold him up
> 
>  **(Also me)** : and ok when i was reading about, like, regency fashion  
> apparently whores used to dampen their gowns  
> bc regency dresses were made of such thin material  
> so dampening them basically meant EVERYTHING can be seen  
> and, like, yuuri's soaked through his gown with sweat and come.  
> and he totes met bitofrough!viktor in the carriagehouse without a petticoat on.  
> viktor probably laughed wildly when he first swung down from the chaise to meet yuuri.  
> and yuuri almost withdrew and like, threw the idea out of the window  
> until bitofrough!viktor is like, "god, are you that desperate, my lord? is your husband not satisfying you at all? well do I know your appetites, but --" and then he pushes yuuri up against the wall and ducks down to suck at yuuri's nipple through the thin muslin of his gown.  
> probably at some point yuuri starts leaking from the nipples and this is 100% usually only something omegas do when they're very turned on by their mates, because the blended smells of their scents is like, BABY!  
> so bitofrough!viktor is like *raises eyebrows*  
> "I hadn't realised you were so attached to me, my lord", before proceeding to latch on and fingerbang yuuri through orgasm numero uno
> 
> RIGHT OKAY THAT'S IT, GOODBYE FOLKS, I'M GOING TO HELL IN A HANDBASKET
> 
> (eta: I always forget this part but if you liked this please consider giving it [a reblog on tumblr! ](https://forochel.tumblr.com/post/163051574037/tis-a-pity-shes-a-forochel-yuri-on-ice#notes)


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